


I'm lost, I'm found

by dragon_rider



Series: Oh, darling, please be mine [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt Fluff Week (The Witcher), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/pseuds/dragon_rider
Summary: The gentle kneading of his scalp and shoulders was probably unnecessary, yet Geralt wanted it and drank it all as if it was another dose of his healing potion.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Oh, darling, please be mine [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865434
Comments: 6
Kudos: 194
Collections: Geralt Fluff Week 2020





	I'm lost, I'm found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elder-flower (elder_flower)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elder_flower/gifts).



> Day 5 for Geralt fluff week (magic). Yes, I am aware it's late but here it is :c
> 
> As always, thanks to my friend and beta [elder-flower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elder_flower/pseuds/elder-flower)!

“ _ GERALT! _ ”

It was such a piercing scream that the Witcher felt it rattling him down to his bones. He saw how the force of it pushed all the soldiers around Jaskier at least three feet away, bodies hitting the ground or trees violently.

Unfortunately, he was still being dragged away through a portal, wounded and unable to form any signs to stop the Nilfgaardian mage from doing it.

***

They’d been ambushed, swarmed by what seemed like a thousand men but was probably just two hundred. 

No matter how many they had taken down, they kept coming. Eventually, in the midst of the fray, Geralt realized the enemy was enhanced.

They would not die, no matter where Jaskier and he attacked.

The elemental spirit had unleashed nature on them, wind and sleet as sharp as any of his swords aiding them in the uneven battle, and they had almost gotten away when the witch had arrived and taken him.

The last thing the Witcher saw was his partner’s enraged, desperate face.

Before he blacked out, he thought of Ciri and Yen, his Witcher brothers and Vesemir.

He had people to live for. Whether he got to see them another day was nevertheless out of his hands.

***

“Where is the Cintran princess, Geralt of Rivia?” the short-haired sorceress asked, probably for the umpteeth time.

He didn’t reply, busy trying not to grimace at feeling his broken fingers mending in all the wrong ways.

They’d broken his bones, one by one, first as torture and then as a safety measure so he couldn’t use magic to get out of imprisonment. They'd kept his hands wound tight by squeezing them in chains and his mutations had done the rest.

Fringilla whispered a spell and waved her hand at him in a sure gesture.

The Witcher felt like his insides were boiling but did not give her the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

He’d been skinned before. 

This was worse.

“Safe,” he bit out. “She’s safe. You are never getting your hands on her.”

“I must admit, your reputation does precede you,” she admitted, somehow impressed. “Any man would’ve broken down by now.”

It was never a good sign when one’s torturer started offering praise. Geralt braced for more hurt, ready to die defending his own even if it meant breaking the silent promise he’d made to Jaskier of spending centuries together.

He knew his lover would understand and avenge him.

***

He roused to consciousness slowly, picking his way through the darkness in his head like molasses.

He could hear thunder nearby: a big storm closing in, raging winds threatening to take the castle above the dungeon he was in down in a few blows.

He smiled, knowing who it was. He licked his chapped and bloody lips and did the only thing he could to help his partner.

He pushed against the wall behind him with all his might, his weight and strength focusing on the misshapen form of his hands bound together, and broke his bones in one go.

He screamed, confident it wouldn’t be heard over the tempest coming to save him.

***

Jaskier had already freed his fingers and wrapped them properly in pieces of his doublet when he woke again in the poet’s arms. The sylph was still glowing preternaturally, lightning coming down all around them in sheets to clear the way for their escape.

For a moment, the Witcher thought he was still down for the count, hallucinating. He’d never seen such a display of power, not even from Yennefer on her best form.

Then again, his partner was not a human magic user.

He was magic, wrapped in human form because he wanted to be.

Because Jaskier somehow thought he was worth loving and staying and fighting for.

“Is she dead?” Geralt asked, every one of his aches lessened by the simple act of being in his lover’s embrace.

His bard grinned viciously and held the Witcher closer to his chest, kissing him on the brow as shouts and fire crackled around them.

“Very much so, my love,” Jaskier assured him and he sighed in relief, eyelids heavy. “I’ve got you, get some rest now. We’ve got a ways to go.”

“Hmm.”

_ My ring _ , he thought suddenly, trying to fight a losing battle against his injuries.

He couldn’t feel it on his finger.

***

He woke up with a start, his breaths coming in short pants, the phantom clutch of pain grasping most of his body as he trembled.

“Easy, dear heart,” a soothing, warm voice whispered near his ear, soft lips kissing the stubble on his cheeks, before he felt a nose brushing gently against his nape. “I’ve got you, I won’t let you go again, not ever.”

The Witcher pressed back against the body sheltering him, blinking against the low light of their little camp, smiling slightly when he saw Roach pasturing a few paces away.

“Here.” Jaskier poured Swallow gently down his throat, craning his neck to peck his lips chastely when Geralt was done taking it. “You’re going to be okay, darling.”

He had no reason to doubt his companion, but something was demanding his attention and would not let him go back to sleep.

_ My ring _ . He flexed each of his fingers, the relief he felt at being able to do so paling in comparison to the weight of the gift his bard had given him not so long ago, still where it was meant to be.

It was clearly enchanted, if it had survived what his hands almost could not, and he stared down at it in wonder.

He heard and felt Jaskier giggling against his shoulder, nuzzling against his hair, arms secure around his middle.

“My gift will not break unless I do first, love. Wherever you are, I shall find you and bring you home to me.”

The Witcher turned to nuzzle against the smooth skin of his lover’s cheek, grateful for both the rescue and all the words he could not utter but that his partner said in his stead.

He found enough strength to take Jaskier’s hand in his and entwine them together, his blown pupils enjoying the sight of the band around his finger, drinking in the few details he could see in the dead of night.

The wolf and the buttercups were still together, just like the elemental spirit had made sure they were.

_ “Remember the djinn that started this all?” Yennefer had mentioned casually to him, one morning in Kaer Morhen. _

_ He'd grunted. _

_ How could he forget? _

_ “Well, consider yourself the master of a new, more powerful one.” She had looked at where Jaskier and Ciri were singing and dancing together pointedly before fixing her violet gaze on him. “Be careful, Geralt.” _

_ “Jaskier would never hurt me,” he'd objected, hackles raising in defense of the one he loved. _

_ The sorceress had laughed at him, the emotion on her face too complex for the Witcher to discern. _

_ “That sylph will lay waste to the whole Continent for you, Geralt. You’ll do well not to forget that.” _

The Witcher recalled the lightning, the ice shards, the wails and the smell of charred flesh as they made it out of the Nilfgaardian fortress.

He raised their hands to his lips, kissing Jaskier’s knuckles.

He did not wince, but his fingers were still tender.

“We should wrap them, at least for a few hours," the poet said. "I'm not taking no for an answer, you stubbornly strong, wonderful man."

"Hmm," he agreed, doing his best not to make a sound when Jaskier disentangled from him to get bandages and numbing salve.

Once his bard was done with his hands, he wiped Geralt's face and neck with a wet but warm cloth, washing the dust and blood away gently.

Jaskier used a comb and some water to gently try and get the worst of the knots and dirt out of his hair.

They slept on the hard ground but it made no difference to the Witcher, since he lay comfortably on his lover's chest, lulled into sleep by the rhythm of the heart beneath his ear and fingers carding through his hair.

***

Roach carried him steadily to a town the following morning, Jaskier guiding her by the reins but mostly just walking beside them, checking on the Witcher every now and then.

As was usual of late, they were received with smiles instead of scorn and given a room for a fair price that his bard would pay in songs and merriment.

Geralt found himself a little miffed that he could not be joining him downstairs later, but he knew he needed to recover to stop being a burden.

If he'd rather hear his partner's beautiful voice from his usual place in a corner of the tavern, well, he'd get more opportunities to do so.

Jaskier called for a bath and tutted when he tried to take his own clothes off, adopting the task far more patiently than the Witcher could, making sure to wet the dry blood sticking in some places so his deep, still healing wounds would not reopen.

Once he was bare, he stepped into the tub with a groan, tipping his head back so his bard could start washing his hair.

The gentle kneading of his scalp and shoulders was probably unnecessary, yet Geralt wanted it and drank it all in as if it was another dose of his healing potion.

"How are you feeling?"

Such a simple question, yet he'd hardly ever heard it directed at himself.

"Good." It wasn't a lie, just an understatement.

Jaskier's smile was as bright as the sun, as if the Witcher had actually told him the whole truth instead of a small word.

He brought a tankard of good ale to Geralt's lips and refused to let him drink on his own, which was probably for the best. His fingers needed a little more time to mend properly.

It was a wonder, all of it, from getting rescued to being always heard, always… cherished.

"Jaskier."

"Yes, my love?"

He reached behind his partner's head to cup his nape and guided him down so their lips could meet.

_ Thank you _ , he couldn't say except in this manner.

Jaskier hummed when they parted slightly, forehead against his, and started singing Geralt's favorite song just for him to hear.

_ I’ve seen enough, he says  _

_ I know exactly what I want  _

_ And it’s this life that we’ve created, inundated with the fated thought of you… _

Geralt was not the poet out of the two and he was also not the best at magic, but still he knew he'd start whole wars and win them just to be here, loving Jaskier and for the first time in his long life truly enjoying being loved back.


End file.
